Work Text:
George was standing in the kitchen when I entered, his head bent over a cutting board, the rhythmic chopping making the muscles of his shoulders bunch and ripple under his t-shirt. The sun caught in his hair, creating a golden halo that shimmered as he moved, and I could already smell something delicious wafting through the air.
I loved watching George work in the kitchen. He was so sharp, so focused. I could have been a puff of smoke for all he noticed me, leaning against the doorway, admiring a master at work. I would never get tired of this.